


One Year

by JessicaPendragon



Series: Canon Keela Lavellan [39]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Winter Palace, post solavellan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:57:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4826513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaPendragon/pseuds/JessicaPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keela does not wait for a response nor for the cloud of confusion to pass from his face. The Inquisitor walks onward towards the ballroom, head held high, back unbent. She is a master of the Game now, of spotting truths and unraveling lies. And she has become quite good at telling them too.</p><p>Takes place one year after the main game ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Year

The first bell rings and Keela takes a deep breath. The glittering gems draping across her shoulders and down the long length of her cape chime with the movement. Hands run over the fade touched, blue velvet molded around her hips as she tries to collect herself.

She’s been here before. She can hear a soft orchestra drifting through the gilded wood of her rooms, can remember the shape of the grand ballroom in painful detail after spending so many hours combing every inch of it. So much has changed in the year since Corypheus’ defeat, however. Once she was nothing but an upstart, a Dalish interloper caught in the wrong place barreling through Thedas on nothing but instinct and the help of a few outcasts.

Now she wears a circlet of gold across her brow instead of scarlet vines beneath her cheeks. Now people look to her for guidance instead of only through desperation. Now the Inquisition is more than a handful of trusted companions and spreads far and wide.

Now it is her the assassins hunt in the halls of the Winter Palace.

“All clear, Inquisitor,” a voice calls from the other side of the door. Keela lets the air rush from her lungs before she pulls it open to reveal blue eyes blazing beneath a silver helm.

“M’lady.” Rylen, her escort, bows before extending an arm. It is a fancy title for bodyguard and she doubts the rest of Orlais will be fooled by it either. Keela ignores his offering and sweeps by, but does not miss the quick upturn of his lips at the act. He follows just a step behind her, far enough to be a shadow and close enough to be a shield if needed. Despite her disapproval of the whole situation, she must admit he is perfect for the position. From experience, she knows he’s skilled at a few other positions as well.

She shakes the idea loose as they come to the end of the hallway to meet with her advisers. Cullen hardly fidgets in his formal wear any longer and gives her a nod. It is Cassandra who still fusses beneath the coat and sash, lips turned down in annoyance.

“Would you like to be relieved, Lady Seeker?” Keela asks with a grin.

“I will be fine. Your safety is more important than my comfort.”

Josephine lets out an excited breath, gaze darting up and down Keela’s form. “That will look absolutely marvelous in the light of the ballroom. Everyone’s eyes will be on you.”

“And our eyes will be on them,” the Spymaster says. “We’ll keep you safe, Inquisitor.”

“Honestly, one little assassin,” Keela grumbles and holds up her hand to stop Cullen’s protests. “I know, I know. Let us be off then. It is impolite to be too fashionably late.”

The doors swing open and every noble within sight turns to watch the Inquisitor sweep into the ballroom. Keela gazes at nothing and everything and braces for the swarm. She knows all the important dukes and ladies, listens for Leliana’s whisper in her ear before those she does not approaches. They wish her well, compliment her attire, wax eloquent about the weather and trade. It all seems meaningless, but Keela has learned to listen for the things unsaid, the way they hesitate or glance away briefly behind their masks.

Instead of a knife in the dark, it is Vivienne’s bright voice that eventually finds her. “My dear Inquisitor, how wonderful to see you again.”

The Divine has traded in her battle robes for another type of armor again. They talk briefly of old times, of the new state of the world and Vivienne’s position. It is the same idle chatter, but there is a genuine warmth to the other mage’s words. Briala finds her next but the conversation is short and polite. Their true discussion will happen tomorrow behind guarded doors and closed windows as they plan further aid for the elves of Halamshiral. 

When the trumpets ring like they did all those months ago, it is an emperor that greets her above the dance floor and then Keela is swept away in the feast and fanfare, the endless circles the nobles spin around her off the floor and on it. She smiles until her face feels like heavy marble, dances until her feet seem clamped in hot iron. As the night dwindles to a close, she glides down towards the small gardens attached to the main hall. Feet lead her to the fountain and she lets the gentle rhythm of the water wash away the long night. It is not only the current weight on her shoulders that fatigues her, but the memories that linger here.

Twelve people once accompanied her to this glittering world. Twelve unlikely acquaintances and friends brought together for a common goal. The number has since dwindled, new partners waltzing in to replace the old. Somehow these vibrant halls feel empty without them.

Fingers brush against the surface and distort her image and the ever present figure behind her. Keela might feel lonely, but she is never alone now. “How do you find the Winter Palace, Rylen?”

“I’d much prefer the Western Approach. Varghest are better company. You seem to enjoy it though. Thrown some of those fools for a loop tonight, best I could tell.”

“I have practice with liars.” She turns to face him. “Tell me, have you lied to me before as well?”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet? Are you planning on it?”

Rylen shrugs. “There may come a time when a lie saves your life. No way to say now. I’d have no other reason to lie to you, however.”

“And you are dedicated to dying for me if the need arises? You will not hesitate to step between me and a sword?”

“It would be an honor.”

Keela’s hands clench. “Yes, to sacrifice yourself for the blessed Herald of Andraste, savior of Thedas. Inquisitor, First Thaw, Basalit-an. What a wonderful honor indeed.”

Rylen’s hand comes up to hold her elbow, gentle but insistent, and the mood changes in an instant. The bright burst of anger fades and she is drawn into the conviction of his eyes. “I would die for you, Keela.”

She should pull away to save face from judging eyes, but she doesn’t. She is tired of standing at a distance from everyone, tired of suspicion and worrying, tired of holding back when all she wants is to feel that spark spreading like forked lightning within her breast. Keela leans closer until the solid strength of his chest stops her. It has been too long since someone saw her, even called her by her given name. The twisted trap around her heart gives just a little bit.

Rylen’s expression softens, as if he can see the rust forming around the hinges too. His touch moves from her arm to grasp hold of her hand. “Do you think it would be utter scandal for the Inquisitor and her escort to share a dance?”

“Absolutely. How are you to watch for assassins when you are watching your feet?”

“M’lady, you wound me. I am excellent at multitasking.”

Keela smirks, her fingers tightening around his. “Yes, I do seem to recall that.”

But everything is different from before including this heat between them. It is not with only lust that he looks at her now, but something harder, something that lasts longer than until the sunrise. Something she has not allowed herself to see in another for a year. For a moment, she lets the world fade, lets the mantel slide away, trusts in this embrace and prays he won’t let her fall.

“Come.” Rylen takes a step away and tugs on her hand. “Dance with me before the band stops playing.”

Keela yanks her hand away, bitten by the familiar words. Their venom strikes through her veins, freezes her lungs. The old wound tears again and releases the memories in a flood. _His_ memories. Time has lessened the pain, but it is not forgotten. She closes the gates around her heart again before she drowns in it all.

“Are you all right?”

She steps way, smiling, slipping on the role of Inquisitor once more and finds it aches in places long forgotten, but she has learned to live with pain. “Yes. I am sorry, but I do not feel much like dancing anymore. I would say my farewells and retire.”

Keela does not wait for a response nor for the cloud of confusion to pass from his face. The Inquisitor walks onward towards the ballroom, head held high, back unbent. She is a master of the Game now, of spotting truths and unraveling lies, and she has become quite good at telling them too.


End file.
